As Legend Has It
by Medivi
Summary: Medic Emma Mitchell is shaken from her comfort zone as chaos descends on Eden Prime; ME1 events from an OC perspective. Only loosely based in canon.
1. Fire in the Hole

_Beta-read by Midnight Lion;_

_Note: Updated and Revised 2/25/2011  
_

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 1: Fire in the Hole**

The com spat and hissed, "Hot Burn, Code 3, Portside; 2 burn victims for immediate evac.*" Data scrolled across the screen as Medic Emma Mitchell exchanged a serious glance with her partner, Phillips. Eden Prime's sunlit hills and rolling greenery suddenly slanted beyond the viewport, coupling with the G-force of the shuttle's abrupt U-turn to make her stomach flip-flop. The maneuver drew an inarticulate protest from the back-end crew, Phillips shoving sunglasses back with a nonchalant smirk. Their shift in direction sent their shadow skittering ahead of them towards the port. After a brief moment the pressure eased and Emma leaned forward, lips already moving in rote response.

"Roger, Med Unit 819 responding and inbound. ETA…" her eyes flickered over the controls as she ported the coordinates to her console, "4 minutes." A flick of her fingers set the siren howling. The seat webbing retracted with a snap as she extracted herself, spinning the seat to the small shuttle bay. Her hands immediately began pawing through the standard kits, yanking free those with 'B U R N' stenciled on the side.

Dee and Fletch were already suiting up, slinging kits and gear into place with the coordinated ease of familiarity. Dee yanked breather masks and oxygen converters, from the cubby by the door, her chocolate skin standing out with stark contrast against the pale gray material of the Medic's uniform. Though apparently at ease, Dee's lips, flattened against each other, would have given away her tension even if Emma hadn't sensed the aura of it emanating from her form.

_Helluva way to finish off the shift._

"No details yet on the situation, we may need to make an immediate extraction if the fire has compromised the structure." Emma slid into her special suit as she spoke, the thin, padded material filled with invisible servos that melded immediately with her musculature. Flesh prickling, she absently smoothed down the few loose tendrils of hair that flared out, crackling with static until the dark energy of her biotics completed the circuit between nerves and suit. Her eyes flicked out the viewport as she leaned on Phillips' chair, taking in the relatively calm scene of the port at midday, barring, of course, the smoke twining upwards in thick, dark ropes from the landing platform. _What the... not a full alarm? _The air thickened with unease, giving the atmosphere in the shuttle a heaviness that tried to stop up her throat. With a flicker of concentration, she edged the auras out, like a finger tugging an overly tight collar to give room for a little more breath.

"ETA: 30 se..." The ship rocked, clicking Phillips' teeth shut on the word as churning flames suddenly obscured a building below and to their right, expanding outwards and upwards in a bubble of heat and shrapnel. Dee was quick to twine her fingers around a door grip, but Fletch's face planted itself on the floor as the shuttle suddenly listed.

Bracing herself against the med pilot's seat, the view tilted as the force of the blow shifted their trajectory. Emma slid into the copilots chair, sliding the webbing over her shoulders. Not sparing even a second to connect the clips around her, her fingers scrambled across the controls for the Com.

"Med U 819, reporting explosion at the port, main terminal." The status report rattled from numb lips as Emma's brain tried to process what her eyes were witnessing. "I repeat..." The vessel swerved past a tower, losing altitude as Phillips tried to halt their descent, the shuttle shuddering.

"Prep impact!" Face grim and pale save for his black soul patch, the younger man punched the landing jets, generating a lift that pressed their bodies heavily into their seats. The emergency shuttle skipped along the decorative expanse of greenery, tearing deep gashes into the earth with every brief but shuddering contact. Determined not to succumb to the laws of gravity, an inarticulate howl of anger erupted from Phillips' lungs as he wrestled with the controls.

The com exploded with noise. Every unit, base line and emergency responder within range rose in a confused cacophony. Their vessel clanged through a metal sculpture, shuddering with the impact before sliding to a sudden halt, canting steeply as it buried its starboard side into turf.

The unbuckled webbing caught most of the impact's force, preventing her from slamming into the viewport, but her head chucked forward with a momentum that might have snapped her neck had she not been suited. Adrenaline and fear thrumming in her ears, all was silence but for the blaring of the siren. She watched a hand reach out and swat a button, not realizing it was her own until a truer silence fell. A tick pulsed rapidly in her neck, blood pounding through the carotid. The small, functioning portion of her mind, catalogued the symptoms of shock, then took control of her lips and tried to phrase a question.

"Status?" Emma slowly craned her head around, realizing only in the abrupt quiet that the com spit and buzzed. A dull tremor rumbled through the earth, and another plume of smoke rose in the distance, the brief flicker of flame reaching upwards through the smoke before sinking back within the surge of gray.

"Bloody hell!" Dee's dark eyes were wide in a daze. "Damn, Fuck... Shit..." Other than the sudden flow of expletives, Dee seemed rattled but functional, despite the slightly glazed look in her eyes. Emma's gaze turned to Fletch. Her yanked his arms free of the passenger seat webbing, bright blood flowing from his nostrils. Pinching them closed, he yowled, the cartilage shifting visibly under what had been the long width of an aristocratic nose.

"Brokem nobe..." Fletch's voice stalled as Dee, already whipping out tape and medigel, set deft fingers to work. Phillips shivered in the pilot's seat, still gripping the controls and staring out the viewport. Calm did not come easily, but Emma forced herself to try a few even, measured breaths, gritting her teeth and focusing on the rapid tick in her throat. A quieting sensation began to ripple through the air, overwhelming the auras of her companions. She laid a gentle hand on her pilot.

"Pip, you're a bloody hero. _But you need to snap out of it._" Her wrist flexed, and the shiver it caused in his slender frame seemed to free his brain. His muscles tensed at the contact, quivering, then slowly relaxing as he forced his taught fingers to straighten. Releasing him, she turned to face the com, flicking through the standard emergency channels one by one. When nothing but static rewarded her attempts, she stifled a note of panic, expanding her search to unofficial colony-wide channels. _Damn._ Her fingers pattered along the keys as she input the restricted military channels, hoping for signs of _something_, even if it were encrypted.

"The satellite must be out." Emma jumped, concentration broken as Phillips' voice interrupted her thoughts. Suddenly aware of her surroundings, Emma's team clustered around her, listening to the faint hissing as the last inputted search returned to the original channel.

"All of them?" Dee snorted derisively, her short-cropped black curls bouncing with the movement.

"Or... somedig's jamming de signal..." Her eyes met Fletch's severe gaze, though his lips twisted wryly to the eyebrow she edged his direction. The puffs of white padding sticking from his nostrils clashed with the blood-tinged tape and skin reddening from the effects of the medigel. He dipped his head, muttering, "Danks, 'll be here _all_ week." His familiar hand squeezed her shoulder, and while she'd normally have withdrawn from the contact, the desire to comfort exuded from him so strongly that she lifted a hand to grip his.

"All of them? But…" Dee's incredulous response faded as the canted viewport dimmed in shadow. "Holy God."

"But why would anyone want to attack Eden Prime?" Emma shivered, the emotional temperature of the room plummeting to an intensely frigid aura. However, 'why?' wasn't as important a question as 'what now?' Four sets of eyes followed the descent of a monstrous ship, its shape reminiscent of a skeletal hand.

* * *

End Notes:

*Terminology:

Hot Burn – Uncontrolled building fire,Code 3 – All available units, including security

_Thanks to the reviews and feedback, both those posted and given privately!_ ~Medivi


	2. Best Laid Plans

_Beta-read by Midnight Lion_

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 2: Best Laid Plans **

"Alright cowboy, I'm out of my element..." The tiny worry lines etching the corners of Emma's eyes belied her light-hearted words. Fletch eyed her apprehensively, a hand lifting towards his face to rub his nose before pausing in mid-air, catching himself before the thoughtless gesture became a painful one. Swelling reduced by medigel's anti-inflammatory properties, his brusque tone emerged without distortion.

"Right, we're sitting ducks here after that entrance. All things being equal, I think we need to find better cover." Eyes darting first towards Phillips, Fletch's gray gaze tracked towards the pilot seat. "I don't suppose…."

"No such luck." The pilot's eyes dropped to the deck plating as he set his back against the shuttle wall, the palm of one hand clutching the back of the other. "I suspect… debris… the engines…" His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he spoke. "The internal mechanisms might need things I couldn't replace… not here… not quickly at least…" The younger man rubbed his face, fingers a brief, unsteady barrier against the world at large.

"Right, then…" Emma reached forward into a small compartment under the console, fingering the lock and drawing forth the pitiful arsenal it contained. A lingering policy from the colony's founding, no shuttle went unequipped, especially not one containing a medical crew and a veritable bounty of drugs and supplies.

Dee fumblingly strapped the weapon to her hip. Fletch tucked extra clips into various pockets, then ran his fingers carefully over the weapon, twitching and flicking at its mechanisms with easy familiarity. Glancing at Pip, just emerging from behind those delicate hands, Fletch gestured for the remaining pistol and clipped it next to the first. Emma slung the lone rifle over her shoulder, lips firm and eyes steady. "Clean out the supplies," she ordered, her dark eyes flicking towards the shuttle's cramped interior.

They moved. Elbow, feet and hands jostling as they each picked apart the prepared kits for the most portable materials. Discarded supplies littered the floor in their haste. Fletch was the first to finalize his gear and he waved Emma over as he slid his omnitool onto his left wrist. His fingers flickered through the holographic display that overlay his arm from fingertip to elbow. Within the steadily glimmering lines, a rectangular image was forming.

"The port… and we're… here?" Emma swept a pinky a few millimeters above the map, not wanting to confuse the technology. His head nodded approvingly, ponytail bobbing.

"Now, it's hard to know where to go that's safe…." He began, pausing briefly as the deep rumbling of distant firepower punctuated his words. "But the tram line is just south of us. If it's running, it's our best chance to get us and any survivors we run across out of here." Despite the matter-of-fact tone and steady expression, his aura was a throbbing knot of uncertainty.

"My folks, out at the dig site –" Still marveling at his outward control, Emma's eyes flickered with approval as she continued. "That Prothean one unearthed by the groundbreaking for that new terminal?" Fletch nodded. "Well, they mentioned something about Marines stationed there to prevent looting." Dee and Phillips glanced up from their own preparations, at Emma's words, looking hopeful. "They're likely equipped for defense, or at least better communications, _something_."

"Well whaddaya know," Fletch grinned, flashing pearly whites. "I think we have a plan."

Somehow, the dots on the omnitool representing the tram and their abused shuttle had not seemed nearly so far apart until they began moving. Fletch led them carefully from cover to cover, pausing frequently to wait and watch before any of them set even a toenail onto a street, alley or opening. Weapon's fire, distant, echoed periodically along their otherwise eerily silent path. Fletch would pause and then veer them away from any of the nearer explosions. Emma noted the tension building thickly around Dee, who suddenly planted her feet in protest as they began to turn away from the closer sounds of gunfire.

"Damn it! I thought we were going to look for survivors? We're bloody medics!"

"Look," Fletch turned abruptly towards the bristling woman, staring her down as the dark chocolate tones of her face flushed even darker with emotion. "We're lucky if these last a single firefight." a hand gestured to the pistol on his hip. "Whoever is here, taking on Eden Prime, they're organized, and they're dangerous. We can't stand up to military grade weaponry!"

Dee's lips parted, an aura of resentment writhing through the air. Emma physically inserted herself into the conversation before sparks flew, stepping between them, planting a hand on each of their chests and _pushing_. The tactile contact heightened her awareness of the emotionally charged atmosphere, fear, anger, resentment and wariness pooling in the two bodies beneath her fingertips. Yanking her hands from them, her fingers rubbed together, trying to free herself of the lingering shock of another's emotional charge. Phillips watched, silent and pale.

"We're medics, first, but… Dee… we're no use to anyone dead." The cold, even tone in Emma's voice silenced Dee. Passionate even in silence, Dee clapped her lips closed and turned away, stewing. _She's mad at the world, for caving in around us._ Emma pondered briefly to herself, motioning Fletch onward. _First rule of Emergency response: Evaluate the scene, don't rush in and become another victim._

The four medics wove their way between buildings, eyes wide and alert, senses heightened. It was impossible to miss the scarring from explosives and weapons that began decorating their surroundings with greater frequency. As the minutes edged upwards, a greater silence descended and hung heavy over the little group.

"It's so quiet," Dee marveled, tone subdued and sweat beading on her brow despite the chill air. "And… shouldn't there be more bodies?" While the strange ship still loomed in the near distance, the northern point of a triangle between their shuttle, it, and the tram, the thuds of explosions had stilled, leaving an ominous quiet in the air. There were occasional mahogany-colored splotches on the ground, hints that bodies had bled out. _But who moved the bodies?_ The question reflected in their glances, remained unspoken.

"This began before our first call." Emma's observed quietly as she lined up behind Fletch, pressing her bundled back into the wall and gripping her rifle firmly as he peered around the corner. The shifting breeze kicked up dust, mixing thin clouds of smoke and scattering the scents of destruction through the air. Dee sneezed. They each froze.

"Damn. Sorry." Ignoring her, Fletch waved them to follow after another brief pause, and they darted across the empty street, watchful.

"These aren't Batarians." After nearly an hour of silence since leaving the shuttle, beyond simple commands, Fletch's sudden outburst caught them all off guard. "The… four-eyes don't remove bodies, and they loot as they go. This is too clean."

"Did you hear that?" Phillips' whisper silenced any further conversation. Emma froze again, but her heart was pounding so hard it was difficult for her to pick out anything else. After a few seconds, they scurried forward, finding momentary cover behind a cement ramp that rose gradually up to the building at their right. "There it is again!"

"I think it's from over there…" Dee edged nearer the low end of the ramp, lifting a hand to point towards the building across the way. The missing corner smoked and smoldered, but it was the mechanical chittering and clicking that caught their attention. While the fear and adrenaline of her companions hung heavy enough to be physically palpable, at least to her special sensitivities, Emma sensed nothing anywhere else. No intelligent biologic life within her range, at least. _Which means…?_

"Defensive mechs?" Her question emerged into air suddenly loaded with the whistling and whizzing of projectiles. Dee's mouth formed a silent "o", her eyes widening before she crumpled. Fletch sprang into action, popping off several shots with grim determination. Emma reached for Dee, but Pip was already kneeling beside her, hands a flurry of activity.

"Em, rifle!" Electrified by the chill in Fletch's voice, and the cold aura of calm that sheathed him, she flung herself to the ground beside him, crouching and fumbling the barrel of her rifle up as she peered over the lip of the ramp. A lone mechanized _thing_ approached them, seemingly unfazed by the rapid pistol fire. Emma's fingers caressed the trigger, the butt of the rifle kicking briskly into her shoulder as her suit buffered her from the impact. The bullet fractured into the nearly invisible blue field surrounding the machine, its glowing lamp of a head swiveling back and forth with unconcern, assessing the oncoming weaponry. Bipedal, its jerky movements were birdlike, as it began a steady approach covered by period fire.

"Shit!" The pistol in Fletch's hands dropped suddenly, a tell-tale electronic burbling alerting them it had overheated, even if he hadn't been waving his hands frantically, trying to dissipate the heat. After a split second, the second pistol was up and out, though the shots slowed slightly.

"Head shot. But get its shields first." They ducked at a spate of returning fire, but Fletch immediately popped up, firing a briefly rapid spate of rounds. Emma managed a few more shots, and her companion grunted as one of his bullets ricocheted from the suddenly unprotected metal of the mechanized warrior's frame. "Head! Now!" The thing was nearing the ramp, closing the ground between them quickly. Emma felt rather than saw the bullet that whizzed by her head, sucking in a breath, holding the air as she focused. Trying to steady shaking hands, Emma sighted and pulled the trigger.

* * *

**Note: **Two days late, but almost half again as long as intended. Feedback welcome and encouraged. I appreciate all kinds of critique to help me improve!


	3. Husks

_Beta-read by Midnight Lion;_

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 3: Husks**

Firm hands pressed at the small of her back, propelling her forwards as she gasped, trying to catch her breath. Her hair drooped in damp, sweaty tendrils, flopping loose from the remains of her bun. Emma tried to glance back over her left shoulder, but the insistent hands shoved her forwards again. "I'm right behind you... move! _Move!_" Sucking in another ragged gasp of air, she dug her toes into the pavement, heartbeat pounding in her ears with every step. Oxygen deprivation left her sight fuzzy, limiting her awareness to the large crates she darted among. While the biotic suit allowed her to better utilize what energy she had, it was simply incapable of addressing the root cause of her physical distress.

_Bloody Anaerobic Threshold. _Shooting pains in her legs hinted that her stamina was nearing its end, lactic acid building up in her muscles and slowing her movements little by little. They had been running, hiding, and fleeing for what seemed an eternity. _Dee... Phillips... _a tendril of worry wormed about her mind as she considered her fellow medics, stuffed in a basement while she and Fletch played bait.

Catching herself up against a large crate, her lungs heaved, greedy for even the smoky, impure air that gave the atmosphere a thick, sticky feel. _Maybe it's just me..._ sweat, salty and stale, dribbled down her cheeks, sidling into the creases of her eyes, the corners of her lips and even gathering in unpleasant hollows beneath her suit.

"Did we lose..." There was no one to answer her, and she sensed the emptiness before her eyes confirmed it. Suddenly realizing she was alone, a weight crushed her, forcing her downwards to the platform. Her uniform hissed against the rough crate, and she was only vaguely aware that randomly stacked crates shielded her entirely from view. Palms on her knees, she settled her forehead down, trying to arrange her thoughts, as if curling up into a tiny ball would make the effort somehow less. Time skewed, minutes strung together breathlessly between moments of horror. _Spikes. Bodies. _Emma shook her head, taking one more ragged breath before slowly climbing to her feet. _Unnatural, mechanized bodies, but there's no humanity left… just the… husk…._

Emma listened, trying to still her own small noises of breathing and the quiet rasping of her gear against the crate. In the distance, now-familiar whirring and digital chirping of the mechanical warriors, _Fletch called them Geth?_, were clearly audible. Clutching her rifle, empty of clips and useless except as a blunt instrument, she slunk slowly back along the crate, dry lips flattened. She crouched there, next to the corner for a moment, afraid of finding nothing or worse, _something_.

Her _extra_ senses remained tightly under control, contained within a tiny radius around her slight frame. The emotional discharge, horror, fear and pain, from the still-living bodies they'd witnessed the Geth impaling... _No. _Wrenching her mind away from the blurry memories, she counted her increasing, frightened breaths. As the breaths slowed, she counted heartbeats. When _those_ slowed, she counted each tap of a fingertip on the barrel of her rifle. Time lost meaning, as she crouched there, counting_. _

_You'll be no less alone, for knowing. _An inner connection sluggishly lit as she relaxed the mental tensions restraining her senses, allowing her awareness to slowly expand outwards. The space around her seemed empty, devoid of emotion, and she extended her senses slowly, mentally picking her way carefully back along her route, cautious as if she were walking barefoot among shattered glass. Encountering someone in the emotional throes of a dying agony could not physically harm her, but experiencing those emotions drew her too near the edge of mental imbalance.

_There... _a faint aura stirred at the edges of her awareness, approaching slowly, cautiously. She could neither identify someone by emotions, nor read the mind or thoughts of the person approaching, and wondered, for the umpteenth time that day, why she even bothered to hide these _empathic _abilities from the world at large. They were bloody useless.

Peering slowly around the corner, she slowly examined her surroundings, eyes travelling methodically from the portion of platform within her limited view to the narrow pathway among the crates. The slight arc of a tow-headed figure rose briefly from behind a small crate, revealing the top of a head, then eyes that were not unfamiliar. Relief washed over her, and she slowly waved the butt of her rifle to catch his attention.

Fletch darted across the opening, grabbing her elbow and dragging her deeper within the stacks of crates, his face serious but his aura lightening with a momentary relief that overwhelmed anything else she could sense. The moment they paused, Emma wrenched her arm from his grasp, unsure whether to hold him tightly or shake him. Never one for public displays, she still couldn't resist a compromise, one open hand smacking his nearest shoulder. It was a petty gesture, half-angry, half-relieved. Unused to allowing emotions to best her, she backpedaled slightly, eying him carefully, unable to miss the new bruise beneath a cheekbone, his long ponytail as scraggly and scruffy as her own.

"Bloody Hell! You scare me like that again and you'll… you'll want those Geth to find you..." Forcing a grin that didn't quite overcome the weariness weighing down his gaze, he just patted her shoulder and collapsed against the crate, eyes briefly closing as his head tipped back. She dropped down beside him, their shoulders not quite touching. Habit was hard to break, and casual contact was difficult.

"Nice to be missed." The discouragement in his voice tugged her own spirits down, and she prodded him with an elbow.

"Out with it." Blue eyes met her darker ones.

"The platform is swarming with those…" his voice trailed off, but she could fill in the blank easily herself, unable to restrain the shudder of revulsion that surged from her shoulders to the tips of her toes.

Her stomach took that inopportune moment to protest, loudly, and she swore, letting loose a muttered string of expletives that would have made Dee proud. Fletch cracked an eye at her, watching her haul a bag into her lap and dig through it halfheartedly, the beginning tremors of biotic over-exertion making her fingers clumsy. _Healer, heal thyself._

A protein bar waved under her nose, and though she rolled her eyes at Fletch's smug expression, Emma snatched it from him anyway, thankful.

"How did you ever manage to wash _out_ of the Navy?" The question emerged between bites, something she'd been puzzling over in between running for her life and burning her fingers on an overheating weapon. The man could fire a weapon, keep his cool, and stay alive. _So bloody competent!_

"How'd you stay undocumented?" He countered, gesturing to the empty wrapper and tossing her another bar. Taking the hint, she fell silent, startled at his intuitiveness and embarrassed over the unintended offense. While impossible to hide her biotics from her team; the topic was a quick way to assure her retreat from a conversation. _Precious little an L1 can do anyways, _she grimaced, staring bitterly at half-consumed bar in her hand, _besides eat._ She could almost sense the nutrients from the protein bar easing into her bloodstream, replenishing the blood sugar balance her biotics had tapped.

Their respite was short-lived. A light scrabbling sound caught her ears and she jumped up into a crouch, poking at Fletch.

"Time to move…." Extending a hand purposefully, she met his eyes, somewhat abashed. His grip fastened on hers, accepting the unspoken apology as she helped draw him to his feet. Moments later, all that remained was the cooling metal of the platform and a wrapper twitching in the smoky breeze.

* * *

**Note: Thanks for reading! I'm posting this early because it's done and I have a 2,000 word paper to write this next week. :)**


End file.
